Much apologies for taking so long to update this one, and Amor Delirus. RL can be incredibly nasty, but my goal is to not leave you guys hanging like that again--I don't know how frequently I'll be able to update both, but I promise it won't be several months between chapters again.

----

Winona wasn't familiar enough with Romulan ship-time to know how long she spent in sickbay. It might have been four days or even a week, but she slept so often she couldn't guess.

The Romulan--and she kept thinking of him as that even though she now knew his name--visited her at odd intervals, whenever his assumedly heavy workload permitted it. Those visits always strained her, because she worked very carefully not to piss him off--a difficult thing to do when she was so filled with grief and anger herself. True to his word, though, he did nothing even remotely untoward; it was just the way he looked at her that made her inwardly shudder. Simple, uncomplicated lust she could have dealt with, but this was not it. Not in the least. Hungry, yes, but for something far less tangible than physical contact. And that somehow only made her hate him more--what right had this murderer to expect any solace? From anyone, but especially her, whose life he had just destroyed?

It was after his fifth visit that she was moved, released from sickbay into quarters of her own, with Doctor Sy next door. They were Spartan enough, as was only to be expected on a mining vessel, but Onen, the mysterious Romulan woman she had yet to meet, had added what extra touches she could. A homemade cradle for Jim, extra blankets, a softer pillow. Winona wondered just how many women there were on the ship, and what the hell they thought about this whole situation. Aside from Nero and the few medics in sickbay, she'd seen none of the ship's crew. They couldn't all be as insane as their captain, or so she devoutly hoped.

Once Jim was fed and content to gurgle to himself in his cradle, Winona investigated her quarters. They were small enough, a little smaller than those she'd occupied on the Kelvin, with an adjacent washroom that actually, to her amazement, ran on water. She hadn't seen a water shower anywhere off Earth. The main room held her bunk, a folding closet for the clothes Onen had fitted for her, and even a small holovid screen, something that had to be a luxury on such a ship. Onen had also provided her with things only a woman would think of--a comb, proper shampoo that had to have come out of some personal store.

Once she'd seen everything she sat on her bunk, head in her hands, and listened to Jim coo. What was she doing here? And where were they even going after this? Whatever the Romulan might say, she didn't believe Romulus had been destroyed--didn't, and wouldn't until she heard it from someone less obviously insane. The thought of winding up on that barbaric planet was almost more than she could endure. The Federation had almost no concrete knowledge of Romulan culture, save for the fact that it was incredibly warlike, but she couldn't imagine anything like an extended stay on that world.

A knock sounded at the door, jerking her out of her reverie, but the bolt of panic that jolted through her subsided when her visitors turned out to be Doctor Sy and yet another Romulan--a woman. Onen.

"Hi," Winona said, not knowing what else to say. Onen was as tall as all the other Romulans Winona had yet seen, but she had a thick mane of brown hair and looked rather younger--perhaps even younger than Winona herself.

The woman nodded acknowledgment. "Hello. I asked your doctor if I might see you. Is there anything else you need?"

Besides a fast shuttle out of here? Winona thought. "No, you've…set things up nicely. Thank you."

The doctor, who seemed to be the only one of the three not afflicted by awkwardness, ran a tricorder over her, those huge eyes apparently satisfied with what they saw. "I'll bring you another vitamin shot at dinner," she said, squeezing Winona's hand before turning to Jim, whose condition seemed likewise satisfactory. That done, she left the other two alone--Onen must have somehow convinced her it was safe to do so. Winona hoped she was right.

"Uh, please, sit." The only available space was the bunk, so Onen sat beside her. "I appreciate the, uh, the clothes and things." Good grief, this was uncomfortable.

Onen, it seemed, wasn't one to bother with small talk. "I know you don't want to be here," she said, turning serious dark eyes to Winona. "I can't blame you. But the captain wouldn't have kept you alive if he meant to hurt you."

Winona jerked at the mention of the Romulan, and cursed herself for it. She was still an officer, dammit, even if her ship had been destroyed and she was almost completely alone in enemy territory.

"He's crazy, isn't he?" she asked before she thought.

Onen shut her eyes, pained. "Captain Nero…has broken a little, yes, but we all have. I don't know what he's told you about Romulus--"

"He said it was gone," Winona interjected, her skepticism obvious.

"It is. In our time, it is, and we all--lost everyone. It's unhinged the captain more than most of us, but we're all…I simply want you to understand that he's not a complete monster. Not yet. He won't hurt you, and neither will anyone else."

Winona didn't like the 'not yet' bit of that statement. Not at all.

"He destroyed my ship without provocation," she said, more than a little angrily. "He murdered all the other prisoners, and he's only kept me alive because I remind him of his wife."

Onen stared at her. "He told you about Mandana?" she said, shocked. "He hasn't mentioned her name since…since it happened.

Winona nodded bleakly. "I think he thought it would be some kind of excuse," she said. "That it would make what he did…that it would make it okay," she added savagely.

"No," Onen said softly. "No, he's not that mad. He's trying to justify it to himself as much as to you."

She glanced at the cradle. "May I hold him?" she asked, and there was a faint note of wistfulness in her voice that startled Winona, so much that she actually said yes.

Onen lifted Jim as though he were fragile as glass, and he blinked his big blue eyes at her. "I was to have been married," she said, and now the wistfulness was palpable. "In six months, when we'd sold another cargo."

That made Winona pause, and realize for the first time that everyone on the entire ship had to be mourning someone. "I'm sorry," she whispered--the only thing she could say.

"My loss is not your fault," Onen said, shaking her head and handing Jim back to her, "though yours is ours. I know you don't want to be here, but you're making the captain actually think where none of us can. And I have hope that will…help, in some way."

She shook her head again. "I am not the only woman on this ship," she said. "If you ever want company, we're here. Don't be afraid of us. And I know I'm not the only one who would enjoy seeing your son."

Almost to Winona's surprise, she really wasn't afraid of Onen--the first Romulan aboard she could say that of. "I…think I will," she said. "Come find you, I mean." It wasn't as though she'd have much else to do, after all. "And you know where I am."

Onen gave her a faint, fleeting smile. "I do," she said, and then she was gone, leaving Winona marginally less bleak. Onen, at least, seemed less…well, alien.

She looked down at Jim, who looked back at her, and sat back on the bed. He'd be all right--she'd make sure of that. He was her reason to keep going, and if Onen was right, she might even have allies here in the women of the crew. Oh, she hoped so. She had to hope for something.

----

At some point she slept, and only knew she did so because a second knock at the door woke her. Startled, she rubbed a hand over her eyes and laid Jim--also asleep--back in his cradle. She dreaded who this caller must be, and she was right--when she opened the door, she found the Romulan on the other side. How odd, she thought fleetingly, that Onen was so easily Onen, but she couldn't bring herself to assign the Romulan's name to him in her head. The thought of letting him into the one place on the ship that was even marginally hers was more than a little alarming, but he didn't ask her to. Instead he said, "I would like you to walk with me, if you will."

Her instant impulse was to say no, but her brain kicked in before she could voice it. The fact that he was asking rather than ordering was not lost on her. Instead she said, "Jim--he's asleep."

"Your doctor can watch him a while." She could read nothing in his voice, or his expression, but it was probably wisest not to refuse. She delivered Jim to Doctor Sy without another word, wondering and not wanting to wonder where the hell they were going. The doctor, who seemed equally alarmed, dared make no protest, either, beyond, "Don't overtire her--she still needs to save her strength."

"I won't," was all the Romulan said, and led Winona away.

He said nothing further, and Winona, who was still amazed at the sheer size of the ship, didn't either. It seemed nearly as big as a space station, so vast the ceiling was lost to view, all shadow and green light. She'd had no idea the Romulans possessed the sort of technology to build such a ship, but if they really were from the future it would certainly make sense.

She was a little too aware of his presence beside her, despite the careful distance she maintained, and had to fight to keep her skin from crawling. Even with that distance she could feel the heat he radiated, and the fact that he was so ungodly tall didn't help--Winona wasn't exactly short, but he towered over her. She thought about what Onen had said of him, and tried to reconcile it with what she herself had seen, and failed utterly. Right now it was probably better not to try. The silence was stretching so unbearably that she almost wished he would say something--anything--but he didn't, so finally she had to force herself to speak.

"Are all Romulan ships like this?" she asked--it was the only thing she could think to say. She felt him looking at her, though she didn't return it; she kept her eyes on the distant ceiling, at the lights so far above they almost seemed like green stars.

"No," he said, still looking at her. "The Narada is…different. The technology behind it does not yet exist."

"So you really are from the future," she said, half to herself.

Before he could respond, their path opened out onto what was little more than a wide catwalk of black deck plates, without a rail of any kind, that stretched over a yawning abyss. Winona, who had never been at home with heights at the best of times, literally staggered as vertigo flooded all her senses. She might well have tripped right over the edge if the Romulan hadn't caught her, pulling her back to the more sheltered corridor. His hand was like a band of warm iron around her arm, and her officer's training took over before she could stop it--without so much as a thought she struck him, hard, trying to jerk away as she did.

He actually released her, and no sooner had he done so than the enormity of what she'd just done hit her. Oh, shit.

"I'm sorry," she said, terror hitting her in the chest like a brick. "You startled me--it was just--"

"Instinct?" he volunteered. To her incredulity, he didn't seem angry--there was only mild annoyance in those black eyes, and if she wasn't still so shocked she would have sworn there was respect as well. "You need not apologize. A Romulan would have done the same, if startled. We were--are--a very paranoid people."

She blinked, trying desperately to change mental gears as well as stop her head spinning. She couldn't do both at once, and wound up sitting on the deck with her head between her knees, waiting until she no longer felt like she was going to fall over or be sick or both.

When her head cleared she found the Romulan kneeling in front of her, a little too close for comfort, but at least this time she managed to override her instinct to scramble back ward. It was a near thing, though, because there was that look again, that need and want that were so hopelessly complicated she doubted even he understood them. And as always it drew the by-now unfortunately familiar combination of grief-fear-rage that she was really going to have to do something about before it drove her utterly mad or got her killed.

"I'm not fond of heights," she said, by way of distancing him and herself. "Never have been. Going that way might not be the best idea."

To her complete surprise, the Romulan actually arched an eyebrow. "No," he agreed, with a dryness quite at odds with the look in his eyes, "it seems it wouldn't." For a moment it seemed as though he saw her as her, as Winona and not whatever insane avatar he'd built her to be in his fractured mind. She didn't know if that was heartening or terrifying. All she did know was that this vertigo, physically unpleasant though it was, was something of a godsend--it gave her something to focus on, something other than him and how damnable uncomfortable he made her. And who knew, she thought, with crazily black humor, maybe if she stood too soon she'd throw up on him. Wouldn't that be a turn-off.

"We will have to work on that," the Romulan said gravely. "Much of the Narada is built that way, and I would rather you not be unable to traverse over half the ship."

That surprised her--she'd figured he'd want her to stay more or less confined to quarters. Then again, though, it wasn't as though she'd have the first clue how to sabotage anything--the technology was far beyond her, and she could neither read nor speak Romulan. The worst she could do was get in the way or, more likely, get lost. Assuming she didn't fall right over the edge of one of those platforms.

She shut her eyes, waiting as patiently as she could for the spinning to stop. It couldn't just be vertigo, it wouldn't be lasting this long…the doctor was right, she hadn't nearly regained enough of her strength yet. Grief had taken as much of a toll as childbirth itself, and even their relatively brief walk had tired her.

The Romulan must have--rather belatedly--realized this, for when Winona finally opened her eyes again she found him looking at her with legitimate concern. She didn't like that look any more than she'd liked any of the others he'd given her thus far, and in the interest of dispelling it she stood--or tried to, which was a very grave mistake, for no sooner had she done so than she lost her battle with her stomach. All over his boots.

She sank back to the floor and laughed--laughed because she would not allow herself to cry, slightly hysterical laughter that had nothing to do with humor. In that moment she sounded, had she known it, nearly as unhinged as Nero himself. Even if she had, she was so tired and so sick and so miserable she wouldn't have cared.

----

Nero hadn't known what had motivated him to seek Winona out so soon after she'd been moved from sickbay. He couldn't seem to keep away from her, even though even his cracked brain realized she needed to adjust in something like peace. Now he was regretting it--not so much because of his shoes as because she was so obviously miserable, physically and emotionally.

Weirdly--crazily--having her throw up on him reminded him sharply of Mandana, who had done so more than once in the early stages of her pregnancy. Then they'd both laughed over it, and watching Winona now was a truly horrible parallel.

He brushed her hair out of her face. "I should have listened to your doctor," he said. "I shouldn't have brought you out so soon. I did not realize you were still so sick."

She tensed visibly when he drew her to her feet, but at least she didn't try to hit him again. He'd honestly admired her for that punch--she was no pushover, his Winona, no weak soft human in spite of her current illness. He could see the ghost of the officer she'd been scarcely a week before--the officer she still was, somewhere beneath that exhausted grief.

He tried to be careful with her--as careful as he could be, for he did not yet know how physically fragile humans really were in comparison to Romulans. They weren't half so strong, but what other physical frailties they might have, he didn't yet know, and had no desire to find out the hard way. She still feared him, though she was too well-trained to show it overtly, and the last thing he wanted was to give her reason to be afraid he'd hurt her by accident. For a moment he thought she was trying to pull away, but she must have realized she wasn't going to be able to walk on her own, for ultimately she let him help her without protest. Her face was so pale it was grey, but she stubbornly kept moving, her eyes fixed on the end of the corridor. She really did seem so fragile, her skin so much cooler than he was used to, but she kept going anyway unwilling to show any more weakness than she had to. And all Fates did he admire that.

He stopped at one of the innumerable replicator units that were scattered throughout the ship--so large a vessel as the Narada needed them everywhere--and got her a cup of water. She sat on the deck to drink it, back against the wall, and though he knew it made her uncomfortable he watched her closely.

"Don't do that again," he said, and she choked on her water, turning wide grey-blue eyes to his. "You came with me because you did not dare refuse. Don't do it again. If you are ill when I come to you, tell me. Don't be afraid I'll be angry with you."

She watched him warily over the rim of her cup, clearly trying to gauge whether or not he meant what he said. It exasperated him.

"I didn't bring you here so I could kill you through ignorance of human frailty," he said, again touching her hair--he didn't seem to be able to help himself, it was so like Mandana's. "If you are ill or exhausted, say so. I would rather you not vomit on me every time I walk with you."

That made her choke again, laughing once more that hysterical, humorless laugh. Nero recognized it all too well--that sort of laughter led to madness, and it alarmed him. He was pushing her too fast, dammit, which irritated him--far more with himself than with her. He'd known this would take patience, and if he didn't have patience he'd wreck everything. He did just murder her husband, after all--these things would take time. The fact that he thought any amount of time would be sufficient said a lot more about Nero than he could possibly have realized, or would ever want anyone to know.

She didn't say anything--once her laughter tapered off she was silent, and when she'd finished her water he put the cup back in the replicator and helped her to her feet once more. He didn't think he was imagining the fact that she was leaning on him a little more heavily, that her steps were a little more uneven, and he cursed himself for bringing her out at all. Nero knew so little about childbirth that he didn't even know how long it took a Romulan woman to recover, much less a human--he'd have to speak to her doctor about it, so he would not make this mistake again.

When he'd finally returned her to her room he went to summon the doctor, who took a startled look at his boots and then his face, searching, no doubt, for any signs of homicidal rage. Which only irritated him even more.

"I did take her too far," he said shortly. "She's ill--see to her. Take what you need from sickbay, and for the love of all Fate, protest next time you know better than to let her do something." And with that he stalked off, in an incredibly foul mood. That had most definitely not gone as he had hoped.

----

He stalked until he found Onen, again hard at work reprogramming the guidance computer. Sweat and oil streaked her face and her hands from too much rewiring, her hair had come half loose from its braid and was held out of her way with what looked like a bootlace, and she eyed him warily when he approached. When had his crew come to fear him so? Nero wondered. Had he really changed so much in so short a time?

"At ease, Onen," he said, when she scrambled to her feet. "You have been to see Winona?"

She nodded, still wary. "And her son."

"Did she say anything to you?"

His navigator paused--clearly she was wondering what she could and could not say to him. "She's afraid of you," she said at last. "She didn't say so, but it's obvious. She doesn't believe you won't hurt her, she's half-crippled by grief, and I'm not certain how stable her mind is right now." She caught his expression, and added, before it could turn truly murderous, "I did tell her you would not harm her or her son. That nobody would. Maybe, in time, she'll come to trust me."

Nero took her meaning, or what he thought was her meaning, easily enough. Right now Winona didn't trust any of them--with good reason, as even he had to admit. Onen could perhaps be his ambassador--she had been a friendly young woman, Before, and out of his crew was one of the most likely to be able to gain a human's trust. And it might well be good for her as well, having another woman to speak to--there were only sixteen women on his ship, out of a crew compliment of a hundred and fifty, and like everyone else on board they'd lost everyone they cared about on Romulus. Parents, sweethearts, siblings…all gone. They and Winona might be good for one another, and the baby…

He hadn't yet wrapped his mind around the idea that he had James Tiberius Kirk on his ship--a Jim Kirk scarcely a week old. Without realizing he'd been doing it, Nero had just smashed history as he knew it to pieces, and it would be some time yet before he'd give much thought as to what to do with all those pieces. Right now he had enough to be getting on with as it was--they all did. Time enough for that later.

What he would have to decide, much sooner, was where they would go and what they would do once the Narada was repaired. Without the red matter they couldn't move against Vulcan, but he couldn't abide the thought of returning to Romulus--not now, not yet. Though it still lived in this time, it was not his Romulus, and he knew the violent history of his planet too well. He had no desire to surrender his ship to the Romulan military, as it would almost certainly order him to do--he'd faced enough discrimination for being a miner rather than a soldier in his own time, and the Romulus of history had been even worse, with a very rigid caste system. Right now it had been little less than a century since the war that had established the Neutral Zone; it was entirely possible the Senate wouldn't believe him if he said he'd come from the future, Romulan though he obviously was. Nero hadn't been lying when he told Winona they were a very paranoid people, and it had been infinitely worse in Romulus's past.

This past. Now.

He'd have to think very carefully about what he did next, for in time he did want to return. When the pain of seeing a world that was his and yet not would be more bearable. When they could go home as conquerors, not minders. He had the T'eraln; who knew, maybe in time he could make Mandana an Empress.

Winona. Winona, not Mandana. Even Nero was sane enough to realize he must not blur the line between the two. Like Winona's terrible laughter, down that path lay only madness. He could not so desecrate Mandana's memory, and he could not be so unfair to Winona; he would certainly not want her conflating him with her dead husband, even had that been at all possible. Which, he thought, with somewhat morbid humor, it most certainly wasn't. Winona might look like a human Mandana, but there was absolutely no resemblance between him and George Kirk.

He sighed, and watched Onen watching him. "Befriend her, if you can," he said. "When you can. See to it she does not remain so miserable." He just had to give her time. He knew it, but knowing did not make the thought any easier.

----

I don't even know what those two are doing; they kind of decided to do their own thing in this chapter. The line about returning to Romulus as conquerors rather than miners is from the novelization of the movie, and it makes a lot of sense, given how screwed-up Romulan society is in this time.

Anyway, thank you to all my reviewers, and I'll try to keep updating in a slightly more timely fashion from now on. :)